A Picture

The lonesome road winds down the mountain side;
The dark pines, dreaming, sigh, on either hand;
Through the dim vale below thin streamlets glide,
Where twinkling cots in peaceful hamlets stand:
The smile of sunset warms this lovely land,
The fragrant breeze of evening whispers low,
And, fugitive, in lurid masses grand,
The purple sunset banners flash and glow,
As if in some vast rout and monarch's overthrow.
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